


Not Knowing How to Run Away Because You Don't Want To

by GleefulMayhem



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, POV James Bond, POV Second Person, Q is shameless, this is really just crappy fluff that has barely even subtextual plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 08:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GleefulMayhem/pseuds/GleefulMayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bond wakes up with Q in his face, but finds he can't accept it.  But his heart never told him this is all it's fault to begin with.<br/>Because repressed emotions have no use if you didn't even want to fight it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Knowing How to Run Away Because You Don't Want To

You wake up with your quartermaster next to you. Seeing his dark curls and pale skin bring up hazy memories of the night before.  

Maybe you do have a drinking problem.

He shifts in his sleep and you can't help but notice the newly exposed flesh. How can someone be so pale?  You've seen princesses with tanner skin than his.

A wave of nausea hits you and you're not yet ready to face the day. Its not like you could leave the situation, this is your flat.  You sleep instead.  
  


* * *

  
  
When you wake up, for real this time, promise, there is a hand around your waist and the smell of coffee in the air.  This situation seems more likely than the one you thought you dreamt.  You may just mumble "love you" out of habit of not getting your conquests angry.  Surely, a man who mumbles in his sleep is honest?

Well, not when you're an agent like Bond, but she doesn’t have to know that.  

The hand shifts up your chest and a mess of hair invades your space.  The scent is so familiar and sweet, you find you don't mind.

Promise broken, you sleep.  
  


* * *

  
  
There's a relatively fresh cup of coffee and aspirin on the bedside table this time.  You should not feel so grateful.

It comes to your notice that you don't remember too much about last night, other than pale skin, sticky fingers, and black hair.  You find yourself smiling.  You do not normally smile in the mornings after.  You should go report to M about yesterday's mission before he has your neck.

A euphoric mood doesn't let you worry about M until late afternoon.  You’re surprised someone hasn't dragged you in yet.  You'll go in tomorrow and see what's going on then.  
  


* * *

  
  
When you report to M at four in the morning because fuck o'clock is his happiest hour, you're not yelled at for reporting a day late, just told to visit Q.

That shouldn't set your pulse racing.  

Must be the coffee.    
  


* * *

  
  
Q is humming to himself as he dances from computer to computer.  You quickly turn your smile into a smirk.  

“Someone got laid.”

Q stops and coughs.  “That is highly inappropriate, Double O.  Well, I have a new toy for you either way.”

“They must have been great in bed to have you making toys for me after last time.”  

“We don’t need your ego growing any.”  
  


* * *

  
  
It’s lunch when you realise what the hell that meant.  

If you groan loudly in shame no one was around to hear it.  

Rather, you leave the restaurant before anyone can comment.    
  


* * *

  
  
You walk home, despite your flat being miles away.  Feel the burn.  Of shame, of course.  

You’re not ashamed it was Q -- with a body like his, how could you?

But -- how did you not realise sooner?  How did you let yourself slip?  How would your working relationship suffer?

How long will Q let you live?  
  


* * *

  
  
You open the door to your flat, finding a cheeseburger and fries on your coffee table.  There’s a sticky note with the letter Q in chicken scratch on it, so you know it’s safe to eat.  

On the back, it says: Noticed you didn’t eat anything.  Enjoy.

Everything about Q would have been creepy if you didn’t find it endearing.  

“Q” and “endearing” in the same sentence?  You’ve gone mad.    
  


* * *

  
  
It’s midnight and you can’t sleep because you can’t figure out what Q is doing.  He’s just sent you a pen that explodes, but only if you use the red ink, otherwise it’s a normal pen.

You pretend the ink doesn’t remind you of his hair.

You find yourself in a cafe, drinking bitter coffee and wishing it were almost sour.  You nurse it until you can’t stand the barista’s doodle on your cup any longer and shift to get another.

A cup slides its way into your line of vision and you look up.  

“Hello, Double O.”

You huff and sit up.  “Good morning, Q.”

“I’d ask why you were up so early, but I figure you haven’t gone to bed yet.”

“I’d figure you’re right.”

“Why?”

“Ever heard of insomnia?”

“You don’t have insomnia.”

“You don’t know, maybe I do.”

“They say exercise helps.”

“Are you hitting on a double O?”

“No, I’m hitting on you.  I’ll even let you finish your coffee.”

“That’s all I ask.”  

 

* * *

  
  
Quartermaster, drunken conquest, and, now, lover?  

Just another day in the life.


End file.
